


The Blessings Of The Old Gods And The New

by LibKat



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Bad Dany!Bad!, F/M, Is that still a spoiler?, Kid Fic, Little!Brienne, Little!Jaime, Post-Canon, R Plus L Equals J, Schmaltz and schmoop, So fluffy I just can’t stand it, Three Eyed Raven Magic, after the war
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:15:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239047
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LibKat/pseuds/LibKat
Summary: Danaerys wants Jaime dead.  Bran works some magic.





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> The idea for this was inspired by Octamercuria’s lovely new fic “Duty, Honor and Love” and TeamGwenee’s wonderful “Lion Cubs”, as well as by a whole lot of Stargate SG1 Little Danny Jackson fics that I used to devour back about 10 years ago.
> 
> And it’s distracting me from the fic I’m failing at for Camp NaNo.
> 
> Disclaimer:  A Song of Ice and Fire, Game of Thrones and these characters belong to a whole bunch of people who are not me.  I will return them undamaged when I am finished playing with them.

The nobles of the North were not pleased by their King’s alliance with the Dragon Queen.  The North, after all, remembers.  They remembered a mad and brutal King.  They remembered a winter rose stolen in the night by a Targaryen prince.  They remembered a Lord and his heir riding South for justice and finding torment and death instead.

But their King had made an agreement and _they_ had made him their King.  The alliance brought with it weapons, armies and dragons.  Though some of the lords looked at the dignified, industrious Lady Sansa and wondered if they had chosen the wrong child of Eddard Stark, they were honorable men and they stood behind Jon Snow.

Despite those doubts, Danaerys Targaryen began her residence in the North with great promise.  She was kind to the common folk crowding the great keep of Winterfell.  She was gracious before the lords of Westeros, realizing she must prove to them that she was cut from different cloth than her mad father.  She swore to bury old grudges and work with any and all who were fighting for the living against the dead.  She was still mourning the loss of one of her “children” and was passionate about defeating the monster who had taken Viserion from her and turned him into an abomination.

Then things began to go wrong.

Though still cautious with the Dragon Queen, the North welcomed her armies and opened their gates freely.  The Unsullied were mostly silent and unobtrusive, not making friends, but not making enemies either.  However, the yoking of the Dothraki with the Northerners was not a happy pairing. 

The Dothraki hated the cold, snow covered land.  When they arrived, they firmly refused all offers of food, warm clothing and tents that would withstand the weather.  The Dothraki had always taken what they needed by force.  They did not accept charity.  With their Khaleesi forbidding the plundering of her allies, they would procure their own food, animal skins and furs.  They would not listen when told that there were no more great herds of animals to hunt in the North.  Those were either already killed or moved off South in search of milder climes.  The animals that remained were nestled in burrows and dens waiting for Spring to come before they froze or starved.

When the leaders of the khalasar accepted that the Northerners had been telling the truth, they demanded that the provisions they were “promised” appear instantly but supplies had been stretched to the breaking point as companies of Lannister and Tully soldiers began to straggle in from the Riverlands. 

The khals made no attempt to mask their contempt for the Westerosi knights, with their armor, great swords and slow, heavy war horses.  Their harsh language was not known by any of the Northmen, but their meaning was clear in their tone. 

Soon not even the Wildings were able to tolerate the Horse Lords arrogance. 

Then, during the first skirmish the Dothraki fought in winter conditions, that arrogance was shown to be ill founded.  The light framed, thin legged horses of Essos foundered beneath them in the great drifts of snow.  The chaotic charges that resulted were entirely out of sync with the maneuvers of infantry and mounted knights, ruining the carefully laid battle plan.  Used to being the scourge of Essos, the Dothraki did not take their poor showing well.  But they would hear no advice, make no modifications, take no orders from King Jon or any of his commanders.

Danaerys’s control of them was slipping.

They retreated back to Winterfell and their behavior devolved further, especially whenever Danaerys was absent from the castle.  Food stores were pilfered.  Fights broke out among the various clans, but more often with the Westerosi.  Smallfolk were intimidated and women were accosted. By treaty, infractions were supposed to be punished by the Dragon Queen, but her attention was elsewhere and she left the discipline of her troops to Grey Worm or Tyrion Lannister.  A eunuch and a dwarf commanded little respect from the Dothrakan.

Things came to a head when, in a deserted corridor of the keep, Khal Rhallo, one of the leaders of the great khalasar, put his hands on Lady Sansa.  Luckily Brienne of Tarth, her sworn sword, was following only a few steps behind.  She heard Sansa’s cries and saved her lady from further abuse at the hands of yet another brutal man.  Brienne knocked Rhallo unconscious, but left him alive to be dragged before the lords and leaders of the Northern alliance.

Several women finally felt safe to speak up, to tell how Rhallo had followed them to deserted parts of the keep and forced himself on them.  When asked to explain himself, Rhallo answered, through a translator, that Northern dog girls should feel honored to receive a horse lord’s seed.  The strictures against rape that Danaerys had imposed on the Dothrakan could not stand against the stresses of a harsh winter and a humiliating defeat.

It was too much for the Northerners.  They had opened their homes, shared their precious supplies and extended their hands in comradeship and this was the thanks they got.  Although Tyrion begged King Jon to wait until the Mother of Dragons returned from her reconnoitering upon Drogon, the North would not be denied justice.  Their women, their liege lady, had been assaulted and the one responsible would pay.  Rhallo was taken to the courtyard of the great keep and there he was executed by the King in the North.  Not satisfied with that, Jon expelled all the Dothraki khals and blood riders, the leaders who had been sheltering within Winterfell, sending them to the discomfort of the great encampment outside the walls.

When Danaerys returned from her ranging flight, it was to find Rhallo’s head mounted on a spike, facing the Dothraki horde.  A loud and bitter argument ensued between the Dragon Queen and the King in the North.  Accepting that there could not be a reconciliation between the Northerners and the Horse Lords, Danaerys sent the khalasar back to the South, with Jorah Mormont serving as its commander.  In return for the opportunity to hunt his monstrous brother, Sandor Clegane would accompany the expedition, monitor the Dothraki and report the army’s progress directly to King Jon.  That force would battle the mercenaries hired by Cersei Lannister and protect the Northern borders from invasion by the Golden Company.

The loss of such a large proportion of the troops she had brought to the Northern army damaged the alliance. Danaerys’s inability to control her men lessened her status in the eyes of her allies.

And then more blows fell on the Dragon Queen.  She learned that she was not, after all, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne.  That responsibility - that burden - belonged to her secret nephew, the man so long thought to be the bastard son of Eddard Stark.  All her life, Danaerys had trusted in one truth, that she had been born to rule the Seven Kingdoms and restore the Targaryen dynasty.  Even when she was suffering under the petty tyranny of her brother, she had believed it in her heart.  And she was wrong.  There was a better claim than hers, a living, true born son of Rhaegar, the Silver Prince.  She had been told by Viserys, by Ser Barristan, by the many Targaryen sympathizers who had sheltered her during her long childhood exile, that Rhaegar had been the best, the nobles of men.  She could not deny Rhaegar’s son his rightful place on the Iron Throne.

And in learning that truth, Danaerys not only lost her throne, she lost her love.  Jon had not been raised Targaryen.  He had not grown up with the expectation that he would marry and mate with someone closely related by blood.  When Jon learned that the woman he was coming to love, the woman he had been passionately bedding for weeks, was his aunt by birth, he was appalled.  The brooding that Jon was already prone to reached new levels.  When not commanding the fight against the dead, he spent hours in the godswood, praying for answers to his many dilemmas from trees gods Danaerys didn’t understand.

The last injury, the thing that broke the woman Danaerys was capable of becoming and changed her into someone worthier of fear than love, was the loss of her hope for the future.  In the upheaval of her arrival at Winterfell, Danaerys did not immediately notice the absence of her moon’s blood.  Her cycle had been erratic since that horrible night when her baby died at birth.  There were sometimes months when she did not bleed at all.  But she felt different this time.  Perhaps the Lhazareen maegi had lied and she was not truly barren.  Or perhaps losing Viserion had been a death that paid for life.  But it was not to be.  Whether there had been a child that she lost in the early stages or she had not been pregnant at all, Danaerys would never know.  But the loss of that last bit of hope, hardened her until she was marble in human form.

She still fought with the North.  She ruled the people she had brought with her from Essos as fairly as she ever had.  But there was no longer any hint of kindness in Danaerys Stormborn.  She began to nurse her grudges, to put conditions on her aid.

One of those conditions was Jaime Lannister.

***

The war was over.  The Long Night had ended and the dawn had come.  Even in Winterfell, there were already indications of the coming of Spring.  The air no longer threatened to freeze the lungs with every breath.  Ice did not coat every surface of the land or form on the slow moving riders who were returning to the great Northern keep, victorious but quiet and somber, mourning their many fallen comrades.

The two great heroes of the final battle had great cause to mourn.  Those two, who were bonded so closely that their strength combined, their swords took flame, they fought as one and they became Light Bringer, the living weapon needed to defeat the Night King and end the army of the dead once and for all.  The two knights mourned because they had lost friends in the battle.  Gentle Podrick and acerbic Bronn both fell while carving a path through the White Walkers so Jaime and Brienne could reach the Night King.  They mourned the allies who had fallen before the last, great battle, only to be encountered in the ranks of the army of the dead.  Lord Commander Edd Tollett and Tormund Giantsbane were among the many who had lost their lives and risen as undead warriors, needing to be finally ended by the flames of the Valyrian steel the two knights carried.

But it was not only their past losses that brought Jaime Lannister and Brienne, the Maid of Tarth their deep grief.  It was the loss to come.

Jaime Lannister had a debt to answer and a Lannister always pays his debts.  Brienne had begged him to flee in the confusion following the final battle, had even offered to go with him, abandoning her oath to the Stark girls, her obligation to the Sapphire Isle.  Refusing her offer with tears in his eyes, Jaime bestowed on Brienne the first and only kiss they had ever shared.

The hard and cold woman Danaerys had become had exacted a price when she gave control of the green and bronze dragon, Rhaegal, over to Jon in the preparation for the final battle.  A price the King in the North angrily refused to pay, though it might mean the difference between victory and defeat.  A price her own Hand argued against as contrary to the alliance.  A price that made Lady Sansa clench her fists in anger and Lady Arya narrow her eyes.

A price that made Brienne of Tarth gasp in horror.

When the enemy was defeated and the war won, Danaerys demanded, she would have the one who killed her father.  The one who threw an innocent boy from a tower.  The one who attacked a Northern Lord in the street.  The one who started a war that almost ended everything.  She would have the Kingslayer, the oath breaker.  She would put Jaime Lannister before her great dragon, Drogon, and give him to the flames.

Jaime had been arguing for weeks that the second dragon needed a rider to provide direction when it joined in the fight.  Rhaegal had come close to burning friendly troops when his mother was too distracted on Drogon to adequately oversee her second child.

Jaime also knew, but could not say, that the alliance needed to get the impulsive and undisciplined King in the North out of field command of the army, so cooler heads and better strategists could execute the battle plans. Over the objections of his friends and allies and even his enemies, Jaime Lannister agreed to Danaerys’s demand.  If he survived the war, he would willingly surrender himself to the Dragon Queen. 

Even after the black dragon fell in the fight to kill its undead brother, Danaerys would not relent.  If the remaining dragon, Rhaegal, would no longer heed her orders, then Jaime would die on the spears of the Unsullied or lose his head to a Dothraki arakh even if she had to wield it herself.  If they both drew breath after the victory, Danaerys would see Jaime Lannister die.

Spying the gates of Winterfell did not come as a relief to the two great heroes.  It was an end, a tragedy, another great, gaping wound torn into their hearts and souls.

***

“My lord!” an armsman cried out as Jaime rode through the gates of Winterfell.

_So soon?  The dragon bitch cannot even give me time to see my horse to the stable?  To bathe the dirt of the road off my body and to face the Stranger in clean clothes?  To ensure that someone will keep Brienne from witnessing my execution?_

Jaime dismounted had handed his reins off to Brienne.  “See that Honor gets a healthy portion of oats and a good brushing, will you, my lady?” 

Brienne snorted through her crooked nose at Jaime’s unsubtle attempt to part company.  “Where you go, I go, Ser Jaime.  I made you that promise over the shards of the Night King’s body and I will not be foresworn.”

Jaime came and stood as close to Brienne as he could without touching her.  “I beg of you, my lady, go inside and don’t look back.” he whispered. “I want to face this final trial as a knight, as a man.  But if you are there, I fear I shall weep for the all things that will never be.  Let the battlefield have been our farewell, Brienne.”

“Ser Jaime,” the armsman interrupted.  “Lord Bran gave orders that you were to meet him in the godswood immediately on your return.  He said that it is most urgent and you must come to him as soon as you are off your horse.”

Jaime took a deep breath.  He would rather have had his life’s last conversation be with Brienne, but he would not deny the Three Eyed Raven, who had many times defended Jaime’s continued survival as being necessary for victory.  Jaime reached for Brienne’s hand and brought it to his lips.  “Go on, now, Brienne.  See your Lady Sansa and tell her of the battle.  Write to your father and tell him that his daughter will return to him.  I will see you later if I can.”

Jaime turned and, without a glance behind him, walked away.

***

Brandon Stark sat in his chair beneath the spreading branches of the heart tree.  Ever since the first time Jaime had looked the great weirwood, it had cause shivers to run down his spine.  That tree had stood at Winterfell for centuries, the center of generations of Stark worship of their old gods.  Yet plain as day, the weeping face carved into the white bark was that of the young man Jaime was there to meet.

Bran was not alone.  Sam Tarly stood beside him.  The look on Sam’s face was one he wore often, terrified but resolute.  Heartsbane no longer hung from Sam’s belt.  It had been give to Podrick to wield in the final battle and was packed away on Jaime’s saddle, waiting to be returned, perhaps for Little Sam to use one day.

“Ser Jaime,” Sam said, his voice quavering.  “Thank you for joining us.  I fear we may not have much time.”

Jaime tried for one of his Stranger-may-care smirks.  “I may not have much time.  You, however, have all the time in the world now, Sam.  What is it you require of me, my lords?  I have an appointment with the Dragon Queen and it would be unconscionably rude to keep her waiting.”

“Danaerys has not yet returned, Ser Jaime.”  Bran spoke in that odd, empty, echoing voice of his.

“Then, dammit, gentlemen, I could be spending these moments with … with those I’m closest to.”

“Lord Tyrion is not here, either.”

“He was not referring to Tyrion, Sam.”  A spark of wry humor colored Bran’s voice briefly and then disappeared.  “You fought bravely, Ser Jaime.  You redeemed your many sins.  You volunteered to give your life so that this war could be won and the living could prevail.  Without your actions, we would have been lost.”

“I thank you for your words, Bran.  Now if that’s all …”

Bran spoke right over Jaime’s interjection.  “I cannot overrule the demand of the Dragon Queen.  You made the bargain of your own free will and not even Jon could gainsay it.  But I would bestow upon you one last gift.  Come closer to my chair and kneel.”

Jaime knelt in the snow before the Three Eyed Raven.  He glanced up briefly to see that Bran had closed his eyes.  He saw that Sam Tarly was white as Ghost and trembling like a leaf in a gale force wind.

“Let this work.  By the old gods and the new, let this work.”  Sam whispered.

Bran laid his hand on Jaime’s head.

And then, there was nothing but pain.

***

Brienne had turned away as Jaime walked off, burying her face in her horse’s neck to keep from screaming her outrage to the gods.

_He saved us all.  Not Jon.  Not that dragon bitch.  Jaime.  The war would have been lost without him commanding the armies.  We needed both the swords to defeat the Night King.  I would have died with Oathkeeper in my hand without Jaime’s strength at my side.  That white-haired cunt should fall to her knees to kiss Jaime’s boots, not demand his life.  Why would he not flee?  Why does he have to be so bloody honorable?_

She could not let him go.  Not like this.  There were still a few precious minutes to spend in Jaime’s company.  A few minutes to say the things she had been too afraid to say for all these years.

She had already lost sight of Jaime in the crowd milling about the courtyard.  But her legs were long and if she hurried she could catch up.  After he was done with Bran, she would drag him further into the godswood, where they could be private and hidden should the Dragon Queen’s men come to take him by force.

Brienne came to the last turn in the path leading to the heart tree.  She saw Sam standing beside Bran’s chair, rubbing his hands together as his lips moved.  She saw Jaime drop to his knees and Bran rest his hand on Jaime’s gold and silver hair.  She heard Jaime’s cry of agony.

She ran the last few steps and slid to her knees beside Jaime.

“Bran, what are you doing to him?  Stop!”

Brienne reached and grabbed Bran to tear away his hand from Jaime’s head.  The pain ricocheted up her arm.  Bran’s other hand landed in Brienne’s straw like mop.  The world went white.

***

The two unconscious figures lay before the heart tree, before the Three Eyed Raven and the unchained maester who'd always wanted to be a wizard.  Sam checked their heartbeats and their breathing. 

“They’re fine, Sam.  Don’t fuss.”  Bran said.  “We’ll stay here a while and see who comes looking.”

Sam retrieve the blankets he had stashed earlier behind the heart tree.  He’d gotten quite good at this, Sam thought as he wrapped them up.  He’d had plenty of practice with Little Sam.  And Jaime and Brienne were now only a little bit bigger than his four-year-old son.


	2. Chapter Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plot gets plot-ier

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to everyone who left kudos and comments on the first chapter. I'll reply to the comments in the next couple of days.
> 
> I'm adding a new chapter much sooner than I expected. I don't have this fic outlined, a thing my anal retentive nature hates. I hope inspiration will keep hitting me upside the head.

It had been not quite an hour when a crowd of people came marching out to the heart tree.  It was led by Danaerys Targaryen and a squad of her Unsullied.  Bran noticed that Grey Worm was not among them.

Following just behind the Dragon Queen and her soldiers, came Jon, Sansa, Arya, and Ser Davos.  Tyrion Lannister trotted behind them on the path, unable to keep up with the angrily striding crowd.

Sam maneuvered Bran’s chair so he was beside and slightly in front of the tightly cocooned figures unconscious on the ground.  Then he tried to fade into the background.

Danaerys came to stop before Bran and her men fanned out around her.

“Lord Brandon Stark,” she said imperiously, “you have something that belongs to me.”

Bran inclined his head.  “Your Grace.  You’ve wasted no time in your pursuit.  But I do not have the quarry you seek.”

“Do not lie to me!” Her voice was shrill and she fisted her hands at her sides.

Jon came forward to her side and spoke.  “Bran, the armsman told us that you sent for Ser Jaime and he was seen heading in this direction.”

“Yes, Jaime is here.  But he is not the one the Mother of Dragons seeks.”

Danaerys leaned forward until her nose was almost touching Bran’s.  He could feel the dragon’s fire radiating from her skin.

“Do not spout your riddles at me, Three Eyed Raven.  I will do whatever it takes to have what is mine.”

“Do not think to threaten me in my own godswood, Mother of Dragons.” Bran replied, his voice hollow and echoing with power.  “It will not turn out well for you.”

Danaerys drew back, surprised at the challenge.  Her Unsullied brought their spears off their shoulders into guard position.

“Danaerys!” Jon barked out.  “Bran!  Stop this, both of you.”  He stepped between his brother/cousin and his aunt/former lover.  “We have just won the war, defeated the army of the dead against all odds.  Are we going to be so stupid as to start another battle before we’ve even celebrated this victory?”

“I will have my celebration when I take the life of the man who killed my father.  That is what I was promised.  I should have known the Kingslayer would not honor his bargain, but I expected better of the Starks.”

Arya and Sansa cried out as one in outrage at the slur on their family’s honor.

“If you are as honorable as you claim, fulfill our bargain and give me my payment!”  Danaerys shouted right back.  “Where is Ser Jaime Lannister?”

Bran answered her, a knowing little smile on his face.  “Ser Jaime is no more.  Jaime Lannister is right here.”

“More riddles!” Danaerys threw up her hands to the skies.

“Bran, this isn’t doing any good.” Jon placed his hand on Bran’s shoulder.  “Sam, what does he mean?”

Sam Tarly stepped out from where he had taken shelter behind the great weirwood.  He took a deep breath and straightened his shoulders. 

“He means exactly what he says, Jon.  You won’t find _Ser_ Jaime here.  But you are standing right next to Jaime Lannister.”

Sam knelt down next to one of the blanket wrapped bundles and peeled back the cover to reveal what was inside.

He was perhaps the most beautiful child any of them had ever seen.  He had a crown of tumbling golden curls.  His skin was smooth and glowing.  On his cheek rested a fan of long, curling eyelashes.  He had a perfect, pink rosebud of a mouth.

Tyrion came forward from the back of the group.  “No.  It can’t be.”

“What. Is. This?”  Danaerys bit out.

“Bran, what have you done?”  Jon whispered.

“I did very little.” Came the answer.  “Jaime Lannister was the gods’ chosen, their champion.  All the gods: the old gods, the new gods, the red god, the drowned god, and the entire pantheon of all the peoples of this world.  He suffered and he lost the things he loved so he could do their work.  This is his reward.”

“To turn him into a child?”  Tyrion asked, appalled at the transformation of his big brother.

“To restore to him the innocence the gods took.  He has gone back to an age before his father buried his heart in the crypt with his wife.  Before his sister began her campaign of corruption on him.  A time when he was only beginning to dream of bringing honor and glory to his house.  A time before he was maimed, inside and out, by evil men.”

As one they turned and looked at the boy, at the _right_ hand he had pressed beneath his cheek.

Sansa knelt down next to him, fascinated by the child.  She looked at the other bundle resting on the snow.  “What is this?”  She asked, reaching out to draw back the covering.

“It’s Brienne, of course.”  Bran answered.  “Without her, Jaime would not have considered this a reward.”

***

With the sun going down, the godswood became too cold for the group to remain there.  Jon carried Jaime while Ser Davos picked up Brienne and they adjourned to Jon’s solar.  Whatever it was that had happened, everyone agreed that they did not want the whole keep intruding while they figured out what they were going to do.

Danaerys dismissed most of the Unsullied guards, leaving only two outside the door, matched by two of the Stark armsmen.

Jaime and Brienne slumbered on. 

They laid the two children side by side on a chaise.  Arya came to stand over them, her hand on Needle.  Sansa pulled over a chair and stroked Brienne’s back with one hand while the other carded through Jaime’s curls.  It was very quiet in the room.  They all could hear her softly humming a lullaby.

Ghost was lazing before hearth when they entered.  He went to the chaise, sniffed once or twice at the children then sat down next Arya, as alert and on guard as she.

Tyrion kept wandering over towards Jaime, only to catch himself and change direction to return to Danaerys’s side.  He startled when she broke the silence in the room.

“What are you going to do about this, Jon?”

“Is there anything to be done?  Bran?”

“This gift cannot be reversed and I wouldn’t do it even if it were possible.  The gods perverted the course of Jaime Lannister’s life from the day he was born.  It’s not he you should be seeking vengeance on, Danaerys.  It’s the gods.”

“And good luck with that.”  Arya muttered.

“I cannot accept this.  A bargain was made.  I must have that terms of that bargain upheld.”  Danaerys’s face was cold as stone and her tone made everyone in the room shiver.

“And do what?” Sansa rose from her place beside the children and approached to tower over the diminutive Targaryen.  “Kill an innocent child?  Not in Winterfell.  I am the Lady here and I will not allow it.  You’ll have to kill me first.”

“I will not allow it.”  Arya said.  “I’d kill you first, Your Grace.”

“ _I_ will not allow it.”  Jon added.  “And remember, Dany, I am your rightful King.”

“All right, all right.” Ser Davos saw that someone had to act as the voice of reason.  “No one is killing anyone.  Everybody sit down and let’s behave like friends not bullies spoiling for a fight.”

Everyone took a step back, but it did little to relieve the tension in the room.

“How do I know that boy is truly Jaime Lannister?  That this is not some trick to let the Kingslayer escape justice.”

“It’s he, Danaerys.”  Tyrion answered her before anyone could express their outrage at their honor being called into question again.  “There was a painting in my father’s chamber of our mother with Jaime and Cersei.  They would have been about this age.  This boy could have walked straight out of that portrait. “

“And he looks like Tommen did when King Robert came to Winterfell.  Tommen was only a little older than this.”  Sansa added.

“Bran,” Tyrion looked as if he’d just been struck by a thought.  “How much of their lives will Jaime and Brienne remember?  They have done things, things have happened to them that no child should have to live with.”

“Yes.” Said Danaerys.  “If the boy has all of the Kingslayer’s memories, then that makes him the Kingslayer, does it not?”

“You are not executing a child at Winterfell.”  Sansa said through gritted teeth.

‘I don’t know what they will remember.”  Bran tried to head off a repeat of the death threats.  “They may wake up knowing only the things they knew when they were originally this age.  Or they may remember some bits of the lives they lived.  But I do not think a child’s mind can encompass the fullness of their life experiences.”

Sam had been trying to be as unobtrusive as was possible for him, but could not resist piping up.  “I believe that is why they are still unconscious.  The physical transformation was very painful for them, but the mental and emotional adjustment must be even worse.  But we simply will not know until they both wake up.  We should be prepared for them to be very frightened and confused.”

“So he may remain partly the Kingslayer or he may not be the Kingslayer at all.  When he wakes, I will question him to see what he remembers.  Then _I_ will decide my course of action.”

“I will not have you terrorizing a child, Danaerys.  Look at yourself.  Look at what you are considering.”  Jon stood before her and peered into her eyes, trying to find some trace of the woman he had loved.

“If you do not agree to my terms, King Jon, I will have my dragon back.  I gave you Rhaegal in return for the Kingslayer.  If you will not let me satisfy myself that he no longer exists in any form that can be punished, the bargain has not been fulfilled.”

Jon sighed deeply.  “You may have Rhaegal back if he will go with you.  I will not force him either way.  A dragon is not a slave.”

Danaerys’s head drew back as if he’d struck her.

Tyrion came to stand before Danaerys.  “Your Grace, I have been at your side through all these trials you have faced in Westeros.  I have believed sincerely in your desire to break the wheel.”  Tyrion’s hand moved to his shoulder and removed the badge of his office.  “I can no longer, in good conscience, serve you, Danaerys.  If you are contemplating injuring a child, you have truly become the Mad King’s daughter.”

Danaery’s face went pale and she swayed for a moment as though she would fall to the ground.  Then her spine stiffened and she sneered down at the dwarf.  “Very well, Imp.  I require loyalty above all from those who serve me.  If you cannot give me yours, I am better off without you.”  And Danaerys swept from the room.

Everyone breathed a sigh of relief. 

Tyrion cleared his throat and scrubbed his hands across his eyes.  “So what are we going to do with our miniature warriors?”

***

It was, appropriately enough, the hour of the wolf.  The children had been moved to the room that Bran and Rickon had shared when they were very young.

Tyrion had stayed long enough to see Jaime settled, then had taken himself off to try and salvage some part of the alliance that was still needed to defeat Cersei and free the South from her tyranny.  Or perhaps he was just seeking strong wine.

Sansa sat on one side of the hearth, the side closest to the two little beds. Her head was bowed as she altered a pair of Rickon’s old breeches that had been stored away in a trunk.  There was a small pile of clothing that she had already worked on and another larger pile awaiting her needle.  Arya was leaning against the wall next to the door, ready to jump to defend the two slumbering children if necessary.  Bran was dozing a bit in his chair on the other side of the fire. 

Suddenly all three Stark children snapped to attention, startled.

“Is that …”  Bran started.

“Did you …” Sansa asked.

Arya simply cried out, “Nymeria!”

“And her pack.”  Bran added.

Arya settled back, disappointed.  “She’s already leaving.”

Bran’s eyes lost focus for a moment and then he reached for the large basket and dumped out the mending.  “Hurry, Arya.  Get to the gate.”

Arya looked down at the empty basket her brother had thrust into her hands.  Wordless communication passed between the siblings and then Arya ran from the room.

“It still so cold out.  She must be quick.”  Bran whispered.

A few tense minutes passed and then Arya returned, the basket in her arms covered with a cloak.  She placed the basket in front of the hearth, between her two seated siblings, and removed the covering.

Inside were five balls of fluff.  Little yips, growls and snuffling noises rose from the basket.  The cubs were very large for being so obviously young, barely weaned.

“Well,” Sansa said dryly, “Now we know where Ghost kept disappearing to.”  She reached down to pet one of the little direwolves.

“There are five of them.”  Arya said.  “Why are there five?  There’s only three of us left.”

Bran tipped his head towards the two small figures in the beds.

“How could Nymeria know?”

“She is a creature of the old gods, Arya.  How could she not know?”  Bran answered.

As the three Stark children gazed on him, Jaime Lannister sat straight up in his bed.  His green eyes huge, he whipped his head around in a panic until his gaze lit upon Brienne, still asleep in the other bed.  His sigh of relief was almost too big for his small body.  Reassured, he then turned his attention to the other occupants of the room.

“Puppies!”

Jaime clambered out of bed.  He was wearing one of Arya’s shirts, the sleeves rolled up a few times to keep his hands free.  Jaime was very tall for his age and Arya was very short for hers, so the improvised nightshirt came to just above Jaime’s ankles, leaving only his small, bare feet poking out.  He crossed the room to kneel in front of the basket.

“Where did you get the doggies, Sansa?”  Jaime asked.

That answered the question of whether he would retain any memories of his adult life.

“These are not dogs, Jaime, they are direwolves, the sigil of my House.  Would you like to hold one?”

Jaime’s arms began to reach out towards one of the cubs, but suddenly they dropped and he put his hands behind his back.

His little face twisted in concentration.  “The … sigil of my house is a lion.  Lions don’t need puppies.”  He said sadly.

The three Starks all looked at one another. 

“Who told you that, Jaime?”  Sansa asked, cautiously.

“I don’t … I don’t remember.  But somebody told me.”  Jaime answered

“Well, that was a very stupid person.” Arya said, standing next to the basket.  “It doesn’t matter if you’re a lion, a rose, a trout or a kraken.  Everyone needs puppies.”

“Really, truly?” Jaime asked.

“Really and truly.”  A rare smile lit Arya’s face.

“Then … can I have one?” Jaime asked, his big green eyes pleading.

“If you promise to take care of it.  You must train it and feed it and keep it clean.”  Sansa answered.

“I swear, Lady Sansa, on my honor as a …a something.”

Jaime reached into the basket and lifted out the cub with a rusty cast to its fur.  He held it for a moment, looking into its face as the cub’s legs paddled in the air.  Then, he cradled the wolf against his chest, rose carefully and stood before Arya.

“The red one for the knight.”  Jaime said, handing the cub to the fierce young woman.

He went back to the basket and lifted the largest of the cubs.  “The grey one for the queen.” And placed the cub in Sansa’s lap.

“And the black one for the raven.”  Giving the third cub into Bran’s keeping.

Jaime contemplated the two remaining wolf cubs.  “And…Bran, is one of these a girl wolf?” He asked.

Bran picked up one of the remaining cubs and then the other. 

“This one is a female, Jaime.  That one is a male.”

Jaime picked up the male cub.  Arya drew in an outraged breath that he would deliberately prefer that one over the female.  Before she could say anything, Jaime walked over to Brienne’s bed and plopped the male cub down next to her.  “This one for my lady.”  Then he returned to claim the remaining direwolf.

“This one is mine.  Her name is Wench and she is going to sleep in my bed and we will keep each other safe.”  He said decisively.  Then, with a huge yawn, Jaime climbed back under the covers, somehow keeping Wench in his arms the whole time.

As he snuggled back down beneath his blankets, Wench’s head on the pillow next to his, Jaime looked over to Bran.  “If Brienne wakes up before I do, don’t let her call her wolf something stupid like … like Renly.”  He spat out the name with all the disgust a six year old could muster.

“The companion picks the name, Jaime, but I don’t think Brienne will choose that one.”

“She’d better not.  Her wolf is too smart for that dumb name.”  Jaime muttered as he drifted off to sleep.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next day dawns.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really thought I’d get Brienne awake in this chapter. But it got to over 2500 words and I wasn’t anywhere near it. Soon, I promise.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who left comments and kudos on the first two chapters.  The reception for this story has been overwhelming.  I have a better idea of where the next few chapters are headed, so I hope there won’t be as long a time lag.
> 
> Let’s talk about Danaerys – I’m okay with Dany as a character in the books, and on the show until last season when “Bend the knee” became practically the only phrase she knew, even more irritating than the “Where are my dragons?!” season.  I needed her to be awful for this story to work, but I think the seeds of this version of her are evident in both canons.  She has a sense of entitlement a mile wide and she does not deal well with frustration.  A part of her really does believe Illyrio’s twaddle that the people of Westeros “drink secret toasts” and “sew dragon banners”.  That way she can kid herself that they will welcome her rule even after she’s sent tens of thousands of Dothraki rampaging through the country.  I don’t think she’s going to end up crazy like this in canon.  D&D are certainly giving her the hero treatment in all the behind the scenes extras.  But she could.

 

Accepting that she wasn’t going to get to fight off assassins in the night, Arya took her wolf cub and went to bed, leaving Sansa and Bran to watch over the two warriors turned children.

Sansa’s grey cub slept at her feet while she continued stitching away to ensure that Jaime and Brienne had clothing come the morning.  She kept her head bent over her needlework, but every few minutes she would look anxiously at the two children as though to check that they were still there.

“You’ve explained, Bran, why this ‘gift’ was given to Ser Jaime, but why was it done to Brienne as well.  Surely it could not have been only to be his companion?”  Sansa asked with a bit of an edge to her voice.  “It would be monstrously unfair if this great change was inflicted on her solely for Jaime’s benefit.”

“Life without him would be as intolerable for Brienne as life without her would have been for Jaime.”  Bran answered mildly, petting the dark furred cub he’d named Shadow.  “The course of her life was also affected by the gods.  They were both the chosen and could only join their strength to become the champion if they were foremost in each other’s hearts and minds.”

“Brienne was foremost in Ser Jaime’s heart?  More than Cersei?”

“Of course.  He came North for Brienne, no matter what he claimed about oaths and honor and survival.  It was only the emotions that Brienne brought out in him when he saw her at the Dragon Pit and the shock of the words she spoke to him there which gave him the strength finally to escape his sister’s thrall.  What Jaime and Brienne feel developed quietly over all the years they have known each other.  It happened so slowly that neither of them realized the breadth, the depth of their own emotions, much less that the other shared those feelings.  Not until they came face to face with the Night King and the inevitability of each other’s death.  They had to have that great outpouring of love and devotion and sacrifice at that precise moment to be able to accomplish their great task, to fight as one mind, one heart, one soul.  And when it was done, with the death sentence hanging over Jaime, it was too late for them to act on what they felt.  Brienne did try to convince Jaime to run.  She even offered to go with him, but he has too much love for her to allow her to dishonor herself.”

“So, the gods made them suffer all their lives to …”

“To save humankind, Sansa. If either of them had deviated from the path, we all would have been lost.  Jaime would have been a good lord, far better than his father ever was, ruling in Casterly Rock with a wife he tolerated and children who never felt quite right.  When the news came of the army of the dead, he would have fortified the Westerlands and waited behind his walls until it was too late.  Brienne’s alternate path is less clear to me.  It might have been an arranged marriage and a long life with a man who despised her for her lack of beauty and worldly charm.   Or it might have been an early death birthing that man’s child.  It is even possible she might have followed the path of Pretty Meris and lived the short and brutal life of a sellsword.  But they were both needed by the gods.  So, Jaime was sent all his trials.  And they sent Brienne hers as well.  A horrible septa who abused her and destroyed her confidence in anything but her skill with a sword.  A father, deeply mourning the ones he’d lost, who couldn’t quite hide his disappointment in his extraordinary daughter.  Two worthless men who couldn’t see the value of their betrothed.  Renly Baratheon, who took her heart as carelessly as he took her hand for a dance and then forgot about her until he needed Tarth to choose him over Stannis.  And all the men and women who mocked and japed and insulted until she thought that she had hidden her heart behind walls that Brandon the Builder would have been proud of.”

“Brienne was never hard.  She was … is … was kind and had a generous heart.”

“Yes, it just took a battering ram like Jaime Lannister to reach it.  Knowing him, knowing the story behind each of his deeds, forced Brienne to examine all her stringent notions of knightly honor and to see the world as more than black and white.  Without him, she would have become so brittle that she would have finally broken from one too many sharp blows.”

Sansa raised her Tully blue eyes from her mending.  “The gods really are nasty shits, aren’t they?”

“The gods don’t care about persons, only peoples. They use their instruments ruthlessly to save us all.  And they pass out their rewards as though it will make up for all the pain they caused.”

“What will happen to her now?  How will her life be different?  She appears very like, well, like Brienne must have looked when she was this age the first time.”  Sansa glanced at the slumbering girl, with her straw like hair, large lips and freckles, and Sansa’s heart ached at the thought of anyone being cruel to her.

“Her childhood will be different this time.  She will have a bosom friend and staunch defender in Jaime.   She will have Arya as an example and guide on the path of the woman warrior.  And she will have a kind mother to soothe her hurts and love her _for_ what the world perceives as her faults rather than in spite of them.”

“A mother?  But who …”

Bran tipped Sansa a wry look.  “Please, sister.  Both those children became yours the moment you saw them.  You’ve tried so hard to encase your heart in ice, Sansa.  But they cracked it wide open at first glimpse.  They are part of your salvation as you are part of theirs.  The gods are trying to repay their debt to you as well.”

“I had not thought to be a mother.”  Sansa said tentatively.

“It was a dream you began to doubt in Kings Landing.  You killed it in the Eyrie.  Then the Boltons buried it under a mountain of pain.  But Spring has come, Sansa.  Let yourself dream again.”

“Will they allow it?  Tyrion is Jaime’s brother, his blood.  Brienne’s father is alive and well on Tarth.  And there’s Jon and Danaerys and a hundred other possible obstacles to overcome.”

“You are the Lady of Winterfell, Sansa.  You fought to regain our home.  You beat Petyr Baelish at his own game.  You oversaw the preparations for the war and kept the North and our army housed and fed and warm against immense odds.  And you won’t be alone in _this_ battle.  Arya and I will be at your side.  Jon will be too, once he becomes aware of your wishes.  But this is a battle we cannot fight tonight.  Let us talk of other things.  Have you decided on name for your cub?”

Sansa looked down affectionately at the little direwolf, now awake and gnawing on the toe of her boot.  “His name is Ice Eyes.”

Bran thought of the face of the cub, the dark grey fur surrounding startlingly light blue eyes.  “After our ancestor.  It’s a good name.  We’ve taken back our Wolf’s Den.  No one will ever take it from our family again.”

***

Sansa sat in the armchair, dozing.  She had become used to getting by on very little sleep.  She lost the ability to relax deeply in Kings Landing and things had only become worse after that.  Even though she now felt safer than she had since her father’s death, she still did not sleep more than a few hours a night and could go for several nights with barely any rest.

The sun had been up for an hour or so.  Bran had gone to do some arcane activity just as the dawn broke.  Arya had come by to offer to sit with the children so that Sansa might sleep and been refused.  Sansa wanted to be there when both children woke, to see them safe and started on this new life of theirs, whatever it might hold.  Jaime had seemed to take this metamorphosis in stride last night, but Brienne still had not woken.

Brienne had held onto Bran’s arm as well as having his hand on her head during the transformation.  Since Brienne had two points of contact with the magic that had coursed through Bran into her and Jaime, Sam thought that Brienne might have been more deeply affected by it.  She might be farther removed from her former self than Jaime appeared to be.

Looking at her, she seemed younger than Jaime.  There was a roundness to her face and body, despite her long limbs, that evoked a child not long past the days of toddling.  The truth of it would not be known until she woke.  The little that Sansa knew about Brienne’s past was that the great changes of her life happened when she had passed her fourth name day.  Her mother died, her father retreated from his remaining children and her raising was left in the hands of her septa, a woman Sansa sincerely hoped was roasting in the deepest of the seven hells.

Sansa could just barely remember Rickon at four.  Always into everything, begging to be noticed in the crowd of Stark children.  Trailing his older brothers like a shadow, trying to emulate them in every way.  What would Brienne be like?  What would she remember of her adult life?  Would she long for the blue water and white beaches of Tarth and be unhappy in the cold, grey North?

Jaime had been on the verge of waking for some little while.  He twitched with energy and tossed his arms and legs about, mumbling indistinguishable phrases, but sometimes a name or word could be discerned.  Brienne and sword were the most frequent on his lips but once he had seemed to whisper Tommen’s name with a tone of anguish.  Wench had licked his cheek several times and Jaime had settled back into slumber again.

Again, the boy sat straight up in his cot as he came awake.  Again, his eyes sought Brienne’s figure before anything else.  Again, he heaved a huge sigh of relief that she was there beside him.

Jaime rubbed a knuckle over one eye as the other arm remained around his direwolf.  “Isn’t she awake _yet_ , Sansa?  He asked plaintively.

“No, Jaime, she is still resting.”

“We should wake her up to make sure she’s all right.  She’ll hate missing out on all the things that have happened.  She hasn’t even met her wolf yet.  I can shake her awake if you want me to.”

“No, Jaime.  The maester, Sam and Bran have said we should let her wake up naturally.  It might make her sick if we force her to wake up.  I know you don’t want that.”

“All right.”  Jaime sighed.  But I can’t sleep anymore, Sansa.  My brain is all woke up.”

“Then we should get you dressed and washed up for breakfast.”  Sansa considered for a moment.  She did not want to leave Brienne alone for even a moment, but she would only turn Jaime over to someone trustworthy.

***

Tyrion had been listening outside the door, which Arya had left open a crack.  He needed to build up his courage to face this new version of the protective brother who had always been the bedrock of his existence.  Knowing he would never receive a better cue, Tyrion poked his head into the room.

“Perhaps I can help with that, Lady Sansa.”

“Tyrion!” Jaime shouted, then looked at Brienne’s slumbering form apprehensively.  “Tyrion.” He said again in one of those child whispers that are as loud as a shout.  Jaime jumped out of his bed and ran to embrace his brother.

Tyrion was startled for a moment by the little arms that flung themselves around him, the same way he had hugged Jaime when he was a boy.  Then he blinked his eyes several times and patted his brother’s back.

Jaime broke away after a moment, confusion on his face.  “Tyrion, you’re bigger than me.”

“Yes, yes, I am, Jaime.  For a brief time, I shall be the big brother.  I’m sure it will not last long, but I intend to enjoy it.  Hello, who’s this?”  Jaime’s direwolf had followed her companion out of the bed and was dancing around their feet.

“This is Wench.  She’s mine and I’m hers.”  Jaime looked down at his wolf for a moment, then looked back at Tyrion, his brow creasing.  “Even lions need puppies.  Arya said so.”

“Well, if Lady Arya says so, then it must be true.”  Tyrion shot Sansa a look that requested an explanation in the near future.  Then he held his hand out to the wolf cub and received an enthusiastic licking of his fingers as a result.

“Can you tell me how you are feeling, Jaime?  What do you remember from yesterday?”  Tyrion ignored the frown that marred Sansa’s brow as he looked deeply into Jaime’s eyes and asked his questions.

“Don’t make me go back to sleep, Tyrion!”  Jaime whined a tone quite unfamiliar to his brother’s ears.  “I slept forever!”

“No one will make you go back to bed unless you begin to feel unwell.”  Sansa answered quickly while Tyrion was still forming a response.  “But you must promise me, Jaime, that if you begin to feel sick or even just strangely, you will tell someone immediately.  If you promise that, you may go with Tyrion to clean up and get some breakfast.”

Jaime looked at Brienne’s slumbering form apprehensively.  “But what if Brienne wakes up.  I should be here.”

“Lady Sansa can send someone to get us the minute it looks like Lady Brienne is stirring.  Wouldn’t you like to leave this room, Jaime?  I’m sure Wench would.  There is still snow in the courtyard for her to romp in.”  Tyrion smiled.  It was an expression that felt odd upon his face.  There was no knife edge of sarcasm, no pain being covered by wit.  He glanced quickly at Sansa to see if she had noticed.

_Damn, she did!_

“Jaime should receive a thorough scrubbing before he dresses, but I expect he’ll be dirty again moments after he steps outside.  I had one of the maids lay out some clothing and boots as well as a basin for a quick wash in the room two doors down the hall.  You will find everything you need there to prepare Jaime to face the day.”

“Oh, at times like these how I do miss Podrick.”  Tyrion said wistfully.

Sansa smiled a sad little smile.  “As do we all, my lord.”

Jaime had watched the exchange between the two adults closely.  Suddenly a mighty grumble filled the room as his stomach made its emptiness known.  Wench yipped at the sound.

“We’d best get started then, brother, before you make that noise again and people think that a bear has gotten loose in Winterfell.”  Tyrion grinned.

“I fought a bear once, brother!  I … I … think I did.  And it went ‘GRRRrrrr!”  Jaime raised his hands to shoulder height and curled them like claws.

“Did you indeed?  Well, you can tell me all about it as we get you dressed.”  Tyrion threw one more glance in Sansa’s direction as Jaime lowered his hands and bent to pick up his wolf in his arms and darted to the door.

“Lord Tyrion,” Sansa caught his attention.  “Something light, porridge with a bit of honey and dried fruit.  A cup of milk if any is to be had.  Make sure that Jaime eats slowly.  We don’t want to see his meal make a quick reappearance.”

“Indeed, we do not, my lady.”  Tyrion gave a shudder and chased it with a grin as Jaime stood impatiently at the doorway.  He sketched a bow to Sansa and moved to leave.

“You should smile that way more often, my lord.  It makes you look quite dashing.”  Sansa said to his turned back.

_Damn, this might be trouble._

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ice Eyes was the nickname of King Brandon Stark, one of the Kings in the North.  He recaptured The Wolf’s Den, a castle in White Harbor, from slavers.  I thought his sobriquet might resonate with Sansa after the recapture of Winterfell.


	4. Chapter Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrion watches his little big brother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, Brienne's still not awake. I wanted to get what I had posted before I disappear into Camp NaNo madness. I hope I'll be back at the end of July with lots of lovely words for this and for Heiress.

Tyrion found overseeing Jaime’s dressing and breakfast to be an exhausting but enjoyable task.  Jaime asked questions about _everything_ and did not hesitate to badger for his answers.  Tyrion considered himself a learned man until confronted with a six year old wanting to know how the heating of Winterfell worked or why snow melted or why the sky was blue (but not the blue of Lady Brienne’s eyes, which Jaime thought it should be since that was the _perfect_ shade of that color).  Finding acceptable answers to all those questions had been as hard a labor as getting Jaime to stand still to have his face washed and his hair combed.  Once his little big brother had been appropriately attired, Tyrion had trotted along side him as the boy and his wolf played chase all the way to the dining hall.  Getting Jaime to eat had been as easy as putting a bowl down in front of him.  It was more difficult to keep him to the bland foods that Lady Sansa had suggested.  Jaime and Wench made a game of trying to snatch the bacon off Tyrion’s plate when he wasn’t looking.  Tyrion only hoped that most of it had gone down the direwolf’s gullet rather than Jaime’s.

Tyrion’s attention kept being diverted by the small groups of Unsullied who came in, loitered and left the dining hall without taking a bite of food or a sip of drink.  What they did do was watch Jaime intently for as long as they remained in the room.  Subtlety was not one of the Unsullied’s gifts.  Thankfully, Tyrion also noticed Lady Arya noticing the same activity.  He called her over.

“Arya!” Jaime cried out and leapt up to hug the younger Stark sister.

Arya looked confused by Jaime’s affectionate greeting, but she briefly tightened her arms around him and then set him away from her.  “If you finish your gruel, Jaime, mayhaps, you can have something better for luncheon.”

“Won’t you join us, my lady?”  Tyrion indicated the seat next to him on the bench.

“I’ve already broken my fast, Lord Tyrion.”  She cast a look at the two latest Unsullied who had just finished a circuit of the hall that brought them close to the table where Tyrion and Jaime sat.  Arya raised her voice a bit.  “And I’d rather not have my sword arm obstructed.”

“If you will not join us, would you do me the favor of asking Captain Marbrand to join me?”  Tyrion also made sure that his voice would carry to lurkers nearby.  “I’d like to assess the remaining Westerlands troops, possibly have a few of them accompanying Jaime and me for the next few days.  Just to evaluate what strength we will be able to lend King Jon when he goes south to face my sister.”

With the assistance of the now de facto commander of the Lannister troops, Tyrion gathered up several survivors of the companies of Lannister soldiers Jaime brought from the Riverlands on his long trek to Winterfell. 

It came as no surprise to Tyrion that most of the castle had heard one story or another about what had happened in the godswood.  Winterfell was still essentially an army camp and gossip running rampant was a time honored tradition among soldiers.  The surviving Lannister men were anxious to prove their devotion to the now six year old boy who had been their liege lord and admired commander.  The soldiers were assigned to shifts where they would cover Jaime from all angles of attack and look intimidating.  They might not be able to stop the Unsullied if the Essosi soldiers moved against Jaime, but they would slow them down long enough for more assistance to come.  With that taken care of, Tyrion once again turned his attention to his brother.

As Tyrion was cleaning a copious amount of porridge from Jaime’s chin and cheeks they were shyly approached by the little Tarly boy.  There was some kind of silent, child-secret communication between them and then Jaime was asking permission to “go play”.    

***

Tyrion stood huddled in his furs on the balcony overlooking the heart of Winterfell.  The courtyard was, as usual, bustling with activity, all the normal comings and goings of a large fortress that was simultaneously recovering from and preparing for war.

Knights and armsmen tended their weapons and armor as the North prepared to go south to face Cersei and her armies.  Tradesmen and craftsmen hawked their goods, made their deals and worked on their tasks.  Small folk were industrious as well, all of them having assigned tasks in Lady Sansa’s ruthlessly organized castle.  But something was different today.  Everyone went about their jobs with a smile, a chuckle, a laugh.  That might be because the gruesome threat of the army of the dead had been lifted, but Tyrion didn’t think so.

The reason for the lifting of spirits was dashing about the courtyard, a direwolf pup on his heels.

In Winterfell, even the children had chores to accomplish and today they were to search for scraps of metal to feed the greedy forges.  Children darted everywhere, running and laughing in high pitched glee, sounds that Winterfell and the people of the North had not heard often in the dark and terrifying winter.

Tyrion and the Lannister men had followed Jaime and little Sam into the courtyard and watched in amazement as, within less than half an hour, Jaime had organized the castle’s children as easily as he did soldiers in the field.  His young troops were finding a prodigious amount of scraps and enjoying the hunt, as though Jaime was directing them in the best game they had ever played.  As always, Jaime led from the front, getting just as grimy as any of the smallfolk children who had made him their leader without a second thought.

Unsullied soldiers continued to come and go, never seeming to have a purpose other than to watch and wait.  Tyrion knew he was going to have to bring the issue to the attention of King Jon, adding to the burdens that young man already carried on his shoulders.  Jaime needed to have loyal people guarding him every moment.  Tyrion hated to even think it of those he’d considered his comrades, but many Unsullied were still _slavishly_ devoted to Daenerys.  One of them might, even without a direct order, snatch Jaime or even kill him outright.  As long as Daenerys and Jaime remained in the same place, he was not safe.  Only King Jon could decree that an attack on Jaime would be taken as an attack on Winterfell and an act of war.  Tyrion only hoped that he could convince the King that such a stance was necessary.  Despite all the evidence to the contrary that he’d seen in his life, Jon continued to think the best of people.

It still felt strange to Tyrion to view the sullen young bastard he’d met so many years ago as the rightful King of Westeros.  Tyrion had been so hopeful for Daenerys and what her reign could bring. 

It had seemed simple sitting in that pyramid in Meereen.  They would cross the Narrow Sea and the people, great and small, would quickly desert their tyrant queen for the Mother of Dragons. The incompetent Cersei would be quickly defeated.  Then Tyrion would observe as the sister who’d tried to kill him more times than he could count came face to face with Drogon or a Dothraki wielding an arakh.  She would end her life knowing that Tyrion had beaten her.  But Cersei proved cannier than Tyrion, with all his years of hating and mocking her, had ever imagined. 

Tyrion had hoped, during these imaginings, that he might find a way to save Jaime.  Telling Daenerys the truth about the “Kingslayer” had laid the foundation to seek mercy for the man who’d saved an entire city from the Mad King.  But if Jaime died on the field of battle defending his sister’s seat on the Iron Throne … well, it would be the kind of death that Jaime had always wanted.  And if he survived the war then chose to sacrifice himself to die alongside Cersei that also would have been the kind of death that Jaime had always wanted.  Tyrion would have called him a great fool, mourned him and gotten on with the business of restoring Westeros to greatness.

It amazed Tyrion, that when he was imagining all that, he had forgotten how deep his love for his brother went.  He’d felt such rage during the trial, at their father’s calculation and contempt, at their sister’s malice, at Shae’s betrayal, at Martell’s recklessness.  It was easy to transfer that corrosive venom to Jaime during the long, drunken trip to Essos.  Once again Jaime had acted as his protector, first buying Tyrion’s life by bowing to all of Tywin’s demands, the same demands Jaime had fought with his whole being for decades.  Then, after Tyrion pissed all over that sacrifice for the fleeting satisfaction of venting his feelings on the court, Jaime still released Tyrion on the eve of his execution.

Big, strong, perfect Jaime coming to the rescue of small, weak, needy Tyrion yet again.

A lifetime’s worth of suppressed, ugly resentment rose up as Tyrion baked in that box on the deck of that ship, combining with the painful knowledge that killing Tywin must have cost him Jaime’s love.  Even when they met in the cellars of the Red Keep to arrange the meeting at the Dragon Pit, Tyrion couldn’t conquer that resentment well enough to apologize for abusing the gift of his escape to take Jaime’s father from him, cold hearted bastard though Tywin was.  Tyrion couldn’t apologize for sitting calmly at a table making plans with the bitches who murdered Myrcella.  It wasn’t until Jaime, heartbroken and close to death from exposure, arrived at a place where nearly everyone wanted him dead and Tyrion came face to face with a life without his brother, that the rage finally abated and the love rose up again.

Now Tyrion would have to be the protector.  He only hoped he was up to the task.

Tyrion sensed the quiet presence come up beside him.  Grey Worm had not been one of the Unsullied to pass through the dining hall.  He had been conspicuous in his absence from Danaerys’s side throughout the confrontations of the previous day.  Now he just stood, solid as granite.  His face was impassive as ever, but there was puzzlement in his eyes.

Tyrion waited as patiently as he could manage for Grey Worm to speak.  The Unsullied warrior would not be hurried by a glib remark.

“This is Daenerys Jelmazmo’s … trouble, Lord Tyrion.  _Him_ they follow.  He should be hated.  North people should be angry.  He did many wrong things.  But _he_ is leader.  This she does not understand.”

“You are correct, Grey Worm.  This is the heart of Daenerys’s trouble.  She doesn’t understand.”  Tyrion said sadly.

Grey Worm looked at Tyrion with a question in his gaze.

“Jaime came to the North knowing that he would be hated, probably even executed for the sins of his past.  But he came anyway because it was right, because he had made a commitment.  When he was questioned, he admitted his crimes openly, shame in his eyes, but without evasion or equivocation.  He did not ask for forgiveness.  He had no hope that it would be given to him.  He simply earned it with every one of his actions after.  He showed the North that he had become a man who did not deserve their hatred.  He showed them that he was a man they could rely on.  And instead of hate, he _earned_ respect.”

Grey Worm said nothing but nodded his head.

“Daenerys, on the other hand, was brimming over with expectations.  She came to Winterfell expecting to be loved and revered, hailed as a savior.  Though she flew in riding the most dangerous beast known to man, she expected everyone to ignore the history of her family and their destructive love of fire.  She expected the North to ignore the burning of the soldiers at the Field of Fire, to ignore the hasty execution of Randall and Dickon Tarly and she bristled when anyone alluded to it.  Danaerys expected the North to ignore that the price for her help was the subjugation of _their_ chosen King.  Then, she did very little to earn the things she expected. 

She made an effort to temper her arrogance at first.  But it welled up again as soon as the Dothraki became a problem.  She would not discipline them.  They were her people, here to offer the North assistance instead of conquering the South for her.  It was the North’s job to adapt to them, not the Dothraki’s job to adapt to the North.  The worse the situation became, the more she saw the complaints as a personal insult.  And then she learned that Jon is the true Targaryen heir and she the one who needed to bend the knee.  It broke something in her and she ended even her modest efforts at accommodation.  She demanded the things she had not earned and more, as if they were her right.”

Grey Worm looked intently at the golden haired boy in the courtyard helping a smaller girl move scraps of tanned hides to see what was beneath.  Grey Worm nodded his head again.

“I am sorry to say, Grey Worm, that Daenerys did nothing to show Westeros that she was worthy of the adoration she felt was her due.  She did much to show that she was deserving of caution and distrust.  That is the true ‘trouble’ of Daenerys Stormborn.”

“Daenerys is my Queen, Tyrion Lannister.  I have followed her across the sands, across the sea and will follow her wherever she leads me next.  But you speak truly.  She must not be allowed to hurt this boy.”  With that Grey Worm turned to walk away.

Tyrion stopped him with a hand on his arm.  “You are no longer a slave, Torgo Nudho.  You are a free man.  Missandei of Naarth is a free woman.  You do not have to hold to choices you made years ago.  Part of being free is the right to change your mind when circumstances change.  King Jon would be grateful for your wise counsel as he rebuilds this country.  Yours and your lady’s.”

Grey Worm gave Tyrion the smallest nod to acknowledge his words.  Then he walked away to take up an observation post in one of the corners of walkway.  There were two more Unsullied loitering around the courtyard.  With a sharp word, Grey Worm sent them on their way.  He continued to watch.

 


	5. Chapter Five

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime contemplates the needlessness of naps and watches over Brienne. A young girl wakes up to a changed world and a wolf gets a name.

Jaime laid on the carpet before the hearth, pretending to doze, his arm around Wench.  He was surrounded by blocks and toy soldiers that had been well used and loved by generations of Winterfell’s children.  He and Sam had enjoyed playing with them, though Sam had no head for strategy.  Then Sam’s mama had come to take him away for a _nap_ of all things.  That had given Sansa ideas about Jaime.  Jaime successfully fought off being put back to bed, but had compromised on lying down quietly with Wench for at least half an hour.  If he did that, Sansa would be satisfied that Jaime was too big a boy to need something as stupid as a nap.

Jaime tried to keep his body quiet but his mind was whirling.

Even as he found himself waking up in the strange little bed last night, Jaime realized that he was changed somehow.  He felt very different from the way he knew he supposed to feel: in his body, in his mind and in his heart.  But along with the sense of strangeness came a near overwhelming wave of relief and freedom.

Jaime had been immediately aware that he was at Winterfell, in the North.  It did not seem strange to him that he was there instead of other places that flashed through his mind when he thought “home”.  He knew there were good reasons for him to be in Winterfell, even if he couldn’t quite remember what all those reasons were. 

Jaime recognized the people he had seen since he awoke, both last night and today.  He remembered everyone’s names, and there were so many names in Winterfell.  But he didn’t always remember why he knew them.  Moments in time drifted through his memory, like a dream barely remembered or a story told to him about someone else a long time ago.  Some things stood out more clearly than others. 

Jaime knew that Tyrion was his brother and they loved each other. 

Jaime knew that Sansa, Arya and Bran were his friends.  He also knew they hadn’t always been.  But they had forgiven him for … something … and taken him in when he had nowhere else to go.  He could trust them.

Jaime knew that there were people here in Winterfell that he could not trust.  But who they were and why they were not his friends, that Jaime could not catch hold of.

Jaime knew one thing above all the others.

Brienne.

Jaime and Brienne had been through much and more together.  The memories of their time with one another flowed away from his mind’s grasp like water through his fingers.  But what it meant, that was vivid and bright as the evening star.

Jaime knew that Brienne was his true home.  Wherever she was, he should be there, too.

Jaime managed to keep his body quiet, well mostly, so Sansa wouldn’t frown her angry frown at him.  Nobody in Winterfell wanted to be on the receiving end of Sansa’s angry frown, except maybe Arya. But Wench still needed petting and scritches behind her ears.  His leg bounced up and down on occasion with energy he simply could not repress.  He would sometimes reach a finger to prod a block or soldier into a more pleasing defensive pattern in case some hostile force decided to invade the room.

Brienne needed to be protected while she slept.  He was her knight, as she was his.  They watched out for each other.

That hadn’t always been so.  Jaime knew he had been different in the before time, but he had changed, even before whatever had happened to him yesterday.  Brienne had changed him.  He had done bad things, but good things as well.  Brienne believed that the good things he had done outweighed the bad.

Jaime knew there were dangers, ones he had faced and ones he had yet to face.

Names and images floated through his mind as Jaime tried to remember the things he had done. 

There was a gentle voice that sang in his memory.  It sounded a bit like Sansa when she was happy. 

There was white hair and a shrill laugh and the smell of burning that made his tummy jump. 

The names that came without faces, Myrcella and Tommen, were an ache that made him want to cry like a baby.   But he was a big boy of six name days and Lannisters don’t cry. 

That echoing thought was accompanied by the image of a looming figure with a stern face and a cold tone that caused a shiver to run through him. 

There was one image that kept coming back over and over, though he tried to hold it out.  She was a beautiful girl, with golden hair and emerald eyes.  She was a cruel woman, with clutching fingers and a twisted smile.  When she came into his mind, whichever one of those images came, his head hurt.  His head and his heart.  Jaime knew that she was bad and she was wrong.  He didn’t want to remember her.

Jaime hugged Wench tighter and rolled over on the rug.  Brienne slept on in her little bed.  Arya had come and taken her wolf out for something to eat and to run.  When the cub came back after only a few minutes absence, it had flopped right down next to Brienne, their noses almost touching.

…

What had Jaime been thinking about?

***

Little licks and laps teased her nose and chin.  Something warm and soft rubbed against her cheek.  Brienne wrinkled her nose and tried to hang onto the dream she was having.  A handsome, golden knight had fought beside her and kissed her when they were victorious.  It was like one of the stories … someone … used to tell her.

The licks were being accompanied by little yips and growls now.  A soft paw batted at her face.

“Grea’eart, stop it.”  Brienne muttered, patting the furry head to try and calm the dog down.

Greatheart.  Wasn’t he … didn’t he … She couldn’t remember.  She opened her eyes to stare into two golden ones in a grey and brown face with big peaked ears and a cold black nose.  She ruffled the pup’s fur and sat up.

“I’m awake.  I’m awake.”  Brienne’s face received a thorough washing from a rough pink tongue.

Twin gasps came from around her.

“Brienne!”  The lady exclaimed.

“Brienne!” The boy shouted.

They both rushed to her side. 

The boy clambered up onto the cot with her and threw his arms around her, crushing Greatheart and another pup between them.  The lady fell to her knees beside the bed and placed a gentle hand on Brienne’s head.

“Brienne, you’ve been asleep sooooooooo long.  I woke up ages ago.  Do you like your wolf?  I picked him ‘specially for you.  But you can’t name him something dumb like Renly.”  The boy released his hold on Brienne and held his wolf out for her inspection.  “This is my direwolf.  Her name is Wench.  She’s very smart and very brave.  Your wolf is her brother.  They came last night.  Arya had to go find them in the snow.  Then …”

“Slow down.”  The lady smiled as she placed a gentle hand over the boy’s mouth.  “Give Brienne a moment to finish waking up.”

The boy looked startled for a moment.  “Oh.  Very well.”  He huffed.

“Can you go and find Samwell or the maester?  They should look at Brienne to make sure she is well.”

The boy looked at her, agonized for a moment.  Then his face cleared.  He crawled off the cot, leaving his wolf cub looking curiously at Brienne as she blinked, trying to understand what was going on.

The lady took the boy’s place on the cot.  She gently placed a hand on Brienne’s face and tilted it so she could look in her eyes. 

“You’ve been asleep a long time, Brienne.  We were becoming worried.  Do you feel alright?”

The boy had reached the door.  He opened it, stuck his head out and shouted in a commanding tone of voice, at odds with his size.  “You, armsman, fetch the maester and Samwell Tarly.  Lord Bran, too.  Tell them Lady Brienne is awake.”

He slammed the door and ran back to the bed.  As he scooched himself in between the lady’s hip and Brienne’s legs he grinned them. “All done!”

“Yes, we heard.  Half the castle heard you.”  The lady kept her lips in a tight line, but her light blue eyes danced.  “Now you must stay quiet and let Brienne think.  We need to ask her some questions.”

“You didn’t ask me questions.”  The boy pouted.  Brienne couldn’t help herself.  Her eyes rolled at his tone.  Rather than being insulted, the boy laughed and rolled his eyes right back.

The lady’s hand left the cheek she had been caressing and tweaked the boy on the nose.  “You didn’t give us a chance, Ser Chatterbox.  But Brienne has never been as loquacious as you.”

The lady’s hand returned to Brienne’s head and started stroking her hair.  It felt strange.  It felt … good. 

Brienne watched as the boy’s brow wrinkled.  “But why didn’t you ask me questions, Sansa?”  He asked.

The door opened and a small man came through.  “Don’t let him get started on asking why, Lady Sansa, we’ll be here all day.”  The man’s eyes twinkled.  “You never stopped talking long enough for us to ask you any questions, sweet brother.”  He tousled the boy’s hair affectionately, then placed his hand on Brienne’s where it lay on the coverlet.

“How are you feeling, Lady Brienne?”  The dwarf asked in a gentle voice.

“I am well, Lord Tyrion.”  Brienne whispered shyly.  The dwarf’s name came from her lips without a thought and she knew at once that it was the correct one.

“So you remember Lord Tyrion.”  The lady’s blue eyes twinkled.  “Do you remember me, Brienne?”

Again, the name was just there on her lips.  “You are Sansa Stark, the Lady of Winterfell.”  Brienne proclaimed proudly.  She knew that Lady Sansa was very important, to her and to the … Seven Kingdoms.

Lady Sansa pointed to the third person in the room.  “And who is this?”

“That’s Ssss …” Brienne paused and started again.  “That’s Jaime Lannister.”  Brienne knew there was something that used to go before Jaime’s name.  But, somehow, she also knew it didn’t go there anymore and wouldn’t again for a long while.

“And who is Jaime Lannister?”  Lord Tyrion asked.

“He is my very dearest, most special friend in all the world.”  Brienne answered quickly, then peeped at Jaime a bit shyly, to be sure that she was right.  She saw him heave a huge sigh and then smile like the rising of the sun.

“And you’re my very dearest, most special friend.”  Jaime declared.  “I like Little Sam well enough, and Dalla and Rickin and the other children from the courtyard, but you’re my Brienne and I’m your Jaime and these are our wolves.”

Lady Sansa and Lord Tyrion exchanged mysterious grown up looks as Jaime’s arms stretched once again to try to encompass Brienne and both cubs in a hug.

“What are you going to call your wolf, Brienne?  He’s been waiting all day for a name.”  Jaime asked urgently.   “You could call him …”

Brienne knew that if she didn’t interrupt him, he would go on and on.  It was all right to interrupt Jaime, even if she shouldn’t interrupt other people.

“His name is Greatheart.  It’s always been Greatheart.”  She thought for a minute.  Something wasn’t right.  “There was a boy once, a long time ago.  He had a dog called Greatheart and it used to wake me in the morning by licking my face.  I … I almost remember him.”

Jaime reached for her hand.  “It’s all right.  Greatheart is a good name, an honorable name for an honorable wolf for an honorable lady.”

Brienne felt her moment of distress lifting at Jaime’s touch, at Lady Sansa’s smile. 

“You and I and Greatheart and Wench, we will have such adventures together.”

***

The little room had become very crowded.  Brienne stared hard at each new person to pull their names from the fog of her memory.  It was easier somehow if she tried to speak the names without thinking too hard about it.  So she had begun saying each person’s name aloud as soon as they entered the room. 

Lady Arya arrived first.  She was whipcord lean and vibrated with a strange energy.  But she also had the gift of stillness.  She had come over and looked hard into Brienne’s eyes, then grinned and patted her on the shoulder.  After that, Lady Arya stationed herself near the door.  Her eyes narrowed at each person who came into the room.  Her hand was never far from the knife she wore in her belt or the slim sword that hung at her side.

Samwell Tarly came bustling in next.  He made Brienne smile.  She liked Samwell, even though there was something in her memory about his house name … someone close to him.  That person, what was his first name?  It was gone in the depths of the fog.

Lord Bran came in, his chair being pushed by Maester Wolkan.  Brienne felt something odd when she looked at the maester.  There was another thing in the fog that clouded her thoughts about the maester.  She looked to Lady Sansa, a question in her eyes.

“Maester Wolkan and Samwell are going to make sure that you are well, Brienne.  We were all worried that you slept so long.”

The maester cleared his throat.  “We should also examine Lord Jaime, my lady.  It ought to have happened when he first awoke.”

“Yes, yes, Maester Wolkan,” Lord Tyrion said, “you may blame that on me.  I wished to spend time reacquainting myself with my brother in his new circumstances.  Lady Sansa was kind enough to indulge me.”

First the maester and Samwell examined both her and Jaime physically.  They asked that they sit up, stand, stand on just one foot and then the other, walk forward and backward.  Jaime quite liked it when they were asked to jump in the air and did it several more times claiming he had jumped higher than she did.  Brienne gave a mighty leap in response that drew yips from the cubs and gasps from the adults.  Lady Sansa then declared that part of the examination to be over.

Samwell and the maester looked into their eyes and had them follow candle flames.  They looked into their ears and whispered words very softly and had them repeat those words back.  They stuck out their tongues and made noises as the maester looked into their throats.  Jaime and she squeezed fingers to show their hand strength and kicked out their legs when the maester rapped gently on their knees with a little club.

Towards the end of all this, they were joined by King Jon and Ser Davos.  It was strange to Brienne that only she and the maester stood and bowed to His Grace.

King Jon smiled his small, crooked smile.  “It is very good to see you awake at last, Lady Brienne.  We have all been most concerned.”

Brienne ducked her head and blushed.  “I am sorry, my king.  I did not mean to cause worry.”

Voices rose from all over the room.

“Of course, you didn’t.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

“Don’t concern yourself, sweetling.”

Jaime nudged her shoulder with his.  “He didn’t mean it like that, silly.”

Brienne whipped her head around to him and narrowed her eyes.  Before she could get out a word, Lady Sansa placed a gentle hand on her shoulder and said, “It’s all right, Brienne.  We should worry about our friends when they are ill or troubled.”

There was something about Lady Sansa that made Brienne feel like it really was all right.

“Jaime and Brienne seem to be in good shape physically,” Samwell said, “but we need to determine what they remember from yesterday and the days before.”

“Should we question them separately?”  Lord Tyrion asked.  “That way we may determine what each of them knows without them influencing each other’s answers.”

“That might be wise,” the maester began.

Jaime reached for Brienne’s hand and gripped it tightly. “No.”  He said, once again using that strangely commanding voice so at odds with his tender age.  “We will not be parted from each other.”

Lady Sansa, Samwell and, oddly, Ser Davos all made a sighing “Awwwwwww” sound.  Lady Arya seemed to smile with just her eyes and King Jon shook his head in amusement.

Lord Tyrion appeared less charmed. “Good gods, Jaime, I just meant going into the next room. I wasn’t proposing to send one of you to Dorne.”

Lord Bran spoke up in his odd, echoing voice.  “Let them stay together.  They may need each other’s comfort.”

“I shall not allow Jaime or Brienne to be distressed.”  Lady Sansa declared.  “I will stop the examination at any time if _I_ feel that it is proving detrimental to their well being.”

“Very well,” Lord Tyrion grumbled, “but Jaime, you must allow Brienne to answer questions on her own, in her own time.  No interrupting her or answering for her.  Lady Brienne, you must promise to kick him hard in the shin if he does.”

Jaime howled his protest as Brienne refused to do any such thing.

“Tyrion, stop teasing.”  Lady Sansa admonished.

“As you wish, my lady, but I’ll be keeping my eye on you, brother.”

As Brienne sat with Jaime on her cot, their two direwolves cuddled in their laps, the adult placed themselves around the room.  Sansa pulled a chair so close that her gown brushed Brienne’s knee.  Lord Tyrion stood at the end of the cot, his hands clasped at his back.  The others kept a bit more distance but their faces betrayed the intensity of their interest.

Brienne’s head spun as she tried to remember the things she was asked.  Some things were easy, her name, her house, her sigil, her words.  She knew her father was Selwyn, the Evenstar.  She knew she had a mother but could not remember her face.  She thought she might have had siblings once, but that was something she could not grasp beyond the fog.

“What do you mean by “the fog”, Lady Brienne?”  Maester Wolkan asked.

Brienne furrowed her brow as she groped for a description these mainlanders would understand.  “When the fog rolls in off the sea, sometimes you can see shadows out in the Strait.  If you look very hard you may see that it’s a ship coming into port or passing by on the way to somewhere else.  Or it may be more of the fog bank building, waiting for the wind to change.  Or it may be something that will slip right by you and you will never be able to say exactly what it was.”

Jaime couldn’t contain himself.  “It’s the before time.  Somethings want to stay in my brain and I want them to stay there.  Somethings won’t stay no matter if I try to catch them or not.  And somethings I don’t want to stay and I have to push them out.”

“What things have you had to push out, Jaime?” Samwell asked.

Jaime looked at Brienne and then down at the ground.  His lip trembled and she squeezed his hand.  His wolf, Wench – and he thought Renly was a dumb name – nuzzled her nose against Jaime’s cheek.

“Bad things.” He whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Both Jaime and Brienne are thinking and speaking far above what would be normal for their physical ages.  That is because they still retain a good bit of their adult selves.  Yes, I’m handwaving so I don’t have to try to convey things at a barely school age level.
> 
> Greatheart was one of the famous Kingsguard knights of yore.  He was thought of with the same level of respect as Duncan the Tall, just the kind of knight that Jaime probably dreamed of being as a boy.  In my head canon for this fic, Galladon told Brienne stories about the great knights and had a dog called Greatheart who Brienne loved.  The dog died with Galladon, trying to save his master from drowning.
> 
> I thought Brienne might have some lingering issues with the maester since he was probably the one who patched up Sansa every time Ramsey tortured her.
> 
>  


End file.
